Carnival of Rust
by shattered petal
Summary: A story on how our Alchemist and Warrior came to be.


**Title**: Carnival of Rust  
**Genres**: Friendship/Drama  
**Rating**: T

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Carnival of Rust  
**Chapter 1.**

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_What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.  
_–– _Aristotle_

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Roy Mustang was still crying when they reached the doors.

Sighing heavily, Christmas affectionately wiped his tears, and kissed his forehead. 'Crying won't change my mind, boy. This is for the best, okay? I'll be back very soon. You can tell me all about it. I can't take care of you if I'm working all the time, otherwise you'd get impatient. I don't want you getting huffy, and I don't think you do either.'

Deciding she was right, Roy wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling. He always _hated_ it when Christmas took him somewhere. The nurseries had always been awful, and the children there bullied him constantly. Roy swallowed, knowing this was another nursery he had to suffer. But this nursery was certainly big, _huge_ even, and the garden was gorgeous. Much too big for a nursery, surely.

When the door opened, Roy raised his head and looked up to see a young man, dressed in a very smart black and white uniform. Roy narrowed his brows, finding his moustache funny, the way it twirled at the ends. Christmas gently placed a hand at Roy's back and encouraged him inside.

'Philip Armstrong agreed to take care of my little boy while I worked today.'

The man nodded, and smiled. 'Yes, I know. So–– _you're_ Roy, then?' He knelt down to Roy's height, chuckling. 'A little girl is here, and I think she's really looking forward to meeting you.' Straightening up, he faced Christmas again. 'Don't you worry about a thing, madam. Roy is in good hands, and I'll keep an eye on him.'

Roy turned, his lower lip trembling when Christmas waved shortly, blew a kiss, and then made her way back to the car. The door closed, and Roy gulped down his cry. He had to be a strong boy for his mother, otherwise she wouldn't be very happy. Roy knew how important it was for Christmas to continue her business. If they lost the pub she bought, then they would no longer have a home.

The man knelt down again. 'My name is John Fitzgerald. You can call me John, though. I'm the butler––' He grinned, '––So I'm a boring old plod. All I do is answer the doors, but I can also pour you some orange juice if you like. Would you like some orange juice, Mister Roy?'

Roy nodded, pulling at his sleeve. 'Yes, please.'

'You wait here then, kiddo. I'll be back very soon.'

Then John stood to his feet and walked down the long hallway. Roy watched after him, then raised his head, in awe. This place was amazing! White floors, white walls, and really weird paintings of moody people whom he didn't recognise. Roy started to chew on his sleeve, and toddled over towards the spiral staircase.

It was long, twirling around the middle, and then separating into two paths. Roy was fascinated. Never had he seen something like this before.

'You like the stairs, do you?' John said.

Roy jumped and stopped chewing on his sleeve, watching the butler approach. A glass of orange juice was passed to him. 'Thank you, Mister John.'

'_John_,' He laughed. 'Just John. Now, Philip Armstrong is busy at the moment with work. Sophia, his wife, is very pregnant right now, so it's hard for her to move around. For now, I'll be taking care of you, and I think you should meet little Olivier.'

'A... _girl_?' Roy cringed. He didn't like girls; they were so annoying and dumb.

John smirked. 'Come on.'

The butler waited for Roy to climb the first few steps, which was quite a challenge. Each step was just below his knee, and his large strides were exhausting. Roy exhaled slowly, almost collapsing onto his front by the time he reached halfway. John was grinning behind him.

'Let me take that orange juice from you, or you'll spill it everywhere.'

Grateful to have both hands free, Roy started climbing on all fours, which was much quicker. Easier too, but still tiresome! When he met the spiral, a smile stretched across his lips. It was like an adventure. The further he climbed, the higher he was from the ground. Roy toppled over slightly and landed on his backside, a little confused at what had just happened.

'Nearly there, Mister Roy. You can make it.' John bent down and took hold of Roy's arm to get him back on his feet.

Finally they reached the first floor. Roy sighed and collapsed, absolutely exhausted. Surely there was another way up those stairs! Wide eyed, he looked up at John, who found it hard to not smile at the silly boy. Roy eyed another staircase ahead and exhaled heavily.

'You ready for some more climbing?'

Roy struggled to his feet but he only ended up falling backwards. Rolling his eyes, John placed down Roy's glass of orange juice, and picked the boy up. With his free hand, he grabbed the juice and then made for the stairs.

'When you're older, you'll get used to this.'

Chewing on his sleeve, Roy eagerly enjoyed the ride. John was a fast walker, and they soon reached the top. Then, he turned a corner, not taking the next set of stairs. Roy looked around him, eyeing each door they passed, and it just seemed never ending until they stopped at one. John passed Roy his orange juice and carefully placed the boy down.

Knocking on the door, John afterwards opened it and peeked through.

'Miss Olivier...? You have a friend here.' Lowering his gaze to Roy, he then said, 'Go on then.'

Curious, Roy stepped inside the room, almost stepping onto a toy train track. Books of all sorts were stacked neatly inside a bookcase very close to the door, a bed a couple of metres away. That was when he noticed a wooden tool: it was long and pointed at the end––

'Dwachmu Spy!'

Roy screamed, scared out of his wits to witness a girl charging at him with a pointed object. When he tried to hide behind the bed, the girl stopped in her tracks, and, for a moment, it looked as if she was going to stop playing. Then she gasped.

'Can' git away from me! I got _big_ twactors!'

... big _what_? Roy yelped when the girl jumped onto the bed and began swinging the wooden object aimlessly. He rushed for the door, but somehow that girl was quicker than him. She grabbed Roy by the scruff of his collar, yanking him back. Screaming again, Roy struggled out of her grip, his arms flailing in all directions.

_Donk_!

The bump was a surprise, and when he realised the girl had hit him, Roy burst into tears, falling onto his knees. It seemed the girl was also in shock, but only because he started _crying_. Frowning, she gave him a very dirty look, and prodded his forehead. 'You ain't supposed ter be cwyin'! Dwachmu Spies don't cwy! We meanta fight!'

'Don't wanta fight!' Roy exclaimed, tears pouring from his eyes.

'What's _wong_ with you?!'

Roy stopped crying at once when there was a loud knock at the door. A woman's voice could be heard, and she sounded very angry, 'Olivier? What's going on?' The door then opened, a blonde lady standing there, heavily pregnant, looking tired and frustrated. 'Oh, dear.' Roy awkwardly stood to his feet, and wiped his face. 'Olivier, what did you _do_? _Fitzgerald_!'

Stepping inside, the nice lady came over and slowly knelt down in front of Roy, muttering to herself. Shaking her head, she wiped away any stray tears.

'Where did my daughter hit you?'

'On my noggin,' Roy snivelled, pointing to his temple. It still hurt.

Soon the butler appeared, a little red in the face. He didn't have to be a genius to know what had happened. 'Mrs Armstrong, I am so sorry,' he said, hurrying over to the wounded boy. 'Is he all right? I can confiscate the wooden swords.'

'Christina wanted me to take _care_ of Roy, not bloody well _harm_ him.' The lady looked over towards Olivier. 'Father is going to have words with you! What did I say about those swords? They're not _soft_; they _hurt _people. They're wooden–– _hard_, Olivier. I–– I really don't need this right now. Fitzgerald, make sure poor Roy is taken care of.'

'Yes, of course, ma'am.' John helped the lady stand to her feet, and escorted her out of the room back to where she previously rested.

When both adults were out of earshot, Olivier wheeled around on her heel and glared at the boy. Roy finally had a chance to see her properly: very bright hair, curled at the tips, and shocking blue eyes. He scowled at her, rubbing his head. However, Olivier wasn't going to play swords with him anymore. Instead, she walked away from him and made her way to the train set.

Roy's curiosity returned to him, though, when he watched her straighten the train, and prepare it for a drive.

'Children.' John had returned, and now hovered in the doorway. He was relieved to see Olivier wasn't attacking Roy. 'Look, I need you two to get on. Miss Olivier, that means you as well! If you want to have a sword fight with him, then you need to _teach_ Mister Roy how to do it.'

Huffing, Olivier looked at Roy then back at the butler. 'No!' She jumped to her feet. 'He's my pwisoner! No Dwachmu Spy 'cos he can' fight.'

'I'm not a pwisoner!' Roy retorted, stamping his foot. 'I'm _not_!'

'You're gonna go to dungeon, then I'll gut you!'

'Olivier, where did you hear that word?' John queried.

The girl ignored him, too preoccupied in her business with Roy. Roy wanted to cry again when she began to wrap a scarf around his arms, pretending they were handcuffs. 'You're gointa be fed to the dogs! Then we'll see who's cwyin'.'

'Be nice, Miss Olivier.'

'Dumb boy can' take care of 'imself so I 'ave to tell 'im what ter do!'

Roy gasped. 'I'm not a _dumb boy_! _You're_ dumb!'

'That'll get you the hangin'!'

'Olivier, how about if you start to get to know Mister Roy first? He's probably a really good boy, who doesn't want to cause distress.'

'Can' trust someone like that! Could be anyone!'

'I'm... pretty sure that's Roy Mustang, kiddo.'

Olivier looked at Roy, studied him for a couple of seconds, then reluctantly removed the scarf from his wrists. 'Fine. But you gotta do what _I_ say, 'cos I'm Generewal and I do the orders, okay? You also gotta take care of the twactors.'

John frowned at that, but either way he was pleased Olivier was finally being merciful. Deciding to leave the two be, he headed back downstairs. Olivier didn't notice his absence. Finally she had someone to play with, even if he was a bit stupid.

'What–– What are _twactors_, Generewal?'

'You salute me first, _den_ ask stuff.'

'What's salute?'

'Uh––' Olivier took a few steps back, and put the side of her hand against her forehead. 'Like dat, but you _always_ gotta do it when you see me. If you don't then dat's disewespectful.'

'Yes, Generewal,' Roy said, saluting. 'Can you tell me what twactors are?'

'They're big moving things that blast stuff in the way. You not right yet to start movin' one, but you getta take care of 'em. _I_ get to move 'em, though, 'cos I'm commanding pwofessor.'

'I know what a commandin', uh, pwofessor is but ma always told me it was "officer", Generewal.'

A pause. Olivier looked as if she was about to slap him for speaking so out of term, but, then, she realised he might actually have a point. 'Oh. Then I am commanding officiser.'

'Officer.'

'Whatever. Go check the twactors and tell me if they are okay. You gotta run, too, 'cos I don't have all day.' And Olivier meant it. Folding her arms, she watched Roy hurry off to one end of the room, and, in his mind, he was checking what was called a "tractor", when instead he were merely inspecting the wall. Then, he hurried back, a little out of breath.

'They're good, but.. phew, I think–– I think they dirteh.'

'You knicker-bag! I dun care if they need cleanin'! All I wanna know is if they can be used to blast stuff, 'cos we're always gonna get attacked by dem Dwachmu Spies.'

'Uhh––' Roy quickly saluted, 'Generewal, what _is_ a Dwachmu Spy?'

'Do you know nothing?!' Olivier sighed dramatically, claimed his shoulder and forced him to sit down. Then she sat opposite him. 'Can' believe you in my army and you don't know what a Dwachmu is!'

'I'm sorry, Generewal,' Roy saluted again.

'A Dwachmu Spy is the bad person we gotta kill. If we don't do that, then they gointa kill us and take all our twactors away, so we gotta kill them.'

'I don't want them to take our twactors!' Roy panicked.

'Then you gotta do what I say! Quick–– they gonna invade us!'

Wide eyed, Roy hurried after Olivier who barged open her bedroom door and frantically hurried upstairs. Roy was desperate to keep up with her, eager to please this rather odd girl. He didn't want to go back to being prisoner again. However, both had very tiny legs and they could only go so far. Olivier almost fell over by the time she reached the second landing.

'Oh no!' She exclaimed.

'What? What?' Roy asked, pulling at his jumper.

'We don't have our swords! Got nothing against those Dwachmu Spies without swords...'

'I go get them!' Roy said, and raced back downstairs.

'Hurry or I'll 'ave your head!'

Mind spinning, Roy hurried into the bedroom and found the wooden swords Olivier wanted. There were two ready for him to grab. Holding onto the handles, Roy struggled up the stairs, the weight of the swords keeping him down. He heard Olivier sigh in irritation and rush to meet him, snatching a sword.

'I almost died 'cos you're so slow!'

Both children reached the second floor again, and started to fight off these invisible enemies. Roy played along, very much into it, swinging and darting his sword this way and that. It was only when Olivier ordered him to stop did he calm down.

'Careful, you might poke someone's eye out!'

Roy blinked. 'Did we win?'

'Of _course_ we did! Dwachmu Spies are useless.'

Then he beamed and rushed over to hug her. Olivier made a noise of disgust when he wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly.

'Geroff me!'

'But we won!'

'You go back to dungeon if do that again!'

At once Roy let her go, cringing slightly. 'So–– uh, what do we do now?'

'Gotta go back an' I gotta train you up! You can't do anything with a sword, you're rubbish.'

Offended, Roy gaped at her, then realised she was probably right. He hadn't used a sword before, and Olivier seemed much more in control of it than he was. Together they went back into her bedroom, and it wasn't long until Olivier was ordering him how he should be standing. It came to a point she was telling him so many things he managed to trip over his shoes and land heavily on his front.

To Olivier's relief, he didn't cry this time.

It seemed Olivier was a restless child, and found it impossible to stay in one place at one time. Roy, however, was someone who preferred to sit down and play board games, or read. He was curious about the amount of books she had stacked in her bookcase.

Miraculously, though, the two ended up playing together until five o' clock that afternoon. The doorbell rang, and Christmas was there, waiting to pick up her adoptive son.

'Mister Roy!'

Roy was in the middle of a little sword fight with Olivier when he was called. Gasping, he dropped the sword and turned to his newfound friend. 'I gots to go. Ma is waiting for me.'

Slumping her shoulders, Olivier was disappointed to hear that. 'Fi–ine, but you gotta remember what I taught you. 'Ey, we haven't got you a title yet!'

'Title? I get to have a _title_?'

'Mmm... You are–– _Cadet_, 'cos you're new and not used to stuff like this.'

Cadet. Cadet Roy. He liked the sound of that. After a quick wave, he hurried out of the bedroom and downstairs, very happy to see Christmas. At once he embraced her, and the two made their way back home. During their journey back, Roy found it difficult to stop talking, there was so much he wanted to say, and he was in utter awe about Olivier and her craziness.

'Maybe next time she can come round.'

Roy stopped when Christmas suggested such a thing. 'Uhh... I dunno.'

'It's sounds as if you two had a very fun time together. Do you like her?'

'Not weally–– she's a bit mad.'

Yet, when he went to bed that night, Roy was restless. Today had been exciting, and he actually found himself looking forward to when they would next meet. If not, a little scared. Olivier Armstrong was certainly a handful.

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**author's note**: A personal headcanon of mine is that Roy and Olivier had known each other since they were very young. In this, both Roy and Olivier are five-years-old. I intend for this to finish during their adulthood, but I shan't reveal _when_, as that would spoil it all. There will be a _lot_ of drama in this, be it emotionally or physically, whatever.

"Twactors" as Olivier wrongly calls are actually "tanks". She's a baby, so it's inevitable she'll make a small slip up like that :P

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and please leave some feedback if possible. This story shall be quite a challenge for me, and I'm excited yet nervous about it. Thanks.


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